


The Man Out Of Time

by Mel_eficent



Series: Captain Armerica AU [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Captain America AU, Day 5: Crossover, Eremin Week, M/M, Marvel Universe, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_eficent/pseuds/Mel_eficent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming home from a war and readjusting to civilian life can be hard on any soldier, but at least they don't have the added baggage of coming home to a different century. Armin Arlert, Captain America, is trying his hardest to get back in the world, but how can he when he left his best friend behind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Out Of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that it's been 1 whole year since I posted my very first Eremin fic? How time flies!  
> So I've had the idea for this AU ever since I went to see Age of Ultron, and since then it's just kind of snowballed and now I have an almost 6000 word fic and a multi-chapter sequel in the works!  
> I'd like to give a huge thank you to my good friend [Beverly](http://blanketforkanekifoundation.tumblr.com/) and my new friend [Tori](http://squeakycolorwheel.tumblr.com/), as well as tumblr users [elithianfox](http://elithianfox.tumblr.com/) and [arlertblogging](http://arlertblogging.tumblr.com/) for agreeing to Beta this for me.  
> A further big thanks goes Tori again, for drawing some absolutely AMAZING artwork for this AU [here](http://squeakycolorwheel.tumblr.com/post/117576108176/armin-captain-america-for-eremine-that-went-down) and [here](http://squeakycolorwheel.tumblr.com/post/118994354771/bucky-barnes-eren-to-go-with-your-armin-cap), check them out! (and also all her other stuff because it's fantastic)  
> Happy Eremin Week and happy reading!

The gym was deathly quiet; nothing could be heard except the pounding of fists echoing off the walls. Apart from the graveyard shift employee asleep at his desk, Armin had the whole place to himself. He wasn’t surprised, given that it was 3:05 in the morning. He preferred it this way actually, he wanted to be alone.

He found the open 24 hours gym one night when the dreams were at their worst, when he’d woken up in a cold sweat, fingers clutching his blankets so tightly that the fabric threatened to tear. It was Hürtgen that time, but before that it was Normandy, Brittany, Paris, Sicily, Aachen, Kursk, somewhere different every night. But it was always the same, bullets mowing down people around him and the screaming of dying soldiers. Whenever it proved to be too much, whenever he needed to drown everything out, he came back to the gym. So basically, every night.

 _Thump_. He slammed his fist into the punching bag again, vibrations reverberating through the bones and muscles of his arm. It felt… cathartic. _Thump thump_. He punched harder and harder until he could feel the vibrations in his shoulders. He punched again and again, trying to keep that night’s painful memories from entering his mind, memories he particularly didn’t want to be reminded of. It wasn’t working.

 _Thump_. Tanks shells blasting through the forest, tearing through trees and sending a hail of splinters raining down on him. _Thump_. The shaking, the screams, the prayers, and all the things soldiers did before they hit the ground running. _Thump_. The sight of smoldering, smoking ruins where a town had once been, where families had once lived. _Thump thump_. A sniper’s round ringing out in the silence, Marco pushing Jean out of the way. _Thump_. The smell of blood and sulfur. _Thump thump_. A grown man falling to pieces, holding his best friend while he died. _Thump thump_. The disgusting feeling of envy as he watched on, knowing he’d never be able to do that with his best friend. _Thump thump thump_.

Eren. _Thump thump_. Eren’s reassuring hand on his shoulder, caring and love in his eyes. _Thump_. Eren’s confident, cocky, infectious smile, demanding him to cheer up. _Thump thump thump_. Eren’s soft, warm hand lazily grabbing ahold of his own, their fingers slowly intertwining. _Thump thump_. That same hand reaching out, desperately flailing for Armin’s. _Thump thump thump thump_. The horror, the anguish, the begging in those sea green eyes, blood and tears streaming down his face, calling out but not hearing a sound. _Thump thump thump thump_. Grabbing his hand, fingers squeezing tightly again. _Thump thump_. A white hot flash of fire. _Thump thump thump_. Eren’s arm going slack, looking in horror as the rest of him was gone. _Thump thump thump thump_. Eren. _Thump thump thump_. Eren. _Thump thump thump thump_. Eren. _Thump thump thump thump thump_.

The bag’s leather skin popped open as it flew across the room before landing with a crash and skidding across the wood panels, sand pouring out all over the flour.

“Having trouble sleeping?”

The deep, authoritative voice shattered the silence, breaking Armin out of his daze. He didn’t turn to face the man, he knew who it was, and he didn’t really feel like talking, especially to the man who tried to lie to and manipulate him as soon as he woke up.

“I’ve been asleep for 70 years sir,” he quipped between deep, haggard breaths, trying his best to hide how he was feeling, “I think I’ve had my fill.”

Director Erwin Smith chuckled, walking closer, “You make light, but waking up and suddenly finding yourself in a completely new world and time isn’t something you just brush off. How’re you feeling?”

Despite the calm nature of his words, Smith’s voice was anything but; cold, regimented, only trying to be comforting because he felt it was necessary.

“I…” Truth be told, Armin didn’t know how to feel. When he went under the ice, he was still at war, still a soldier on the front lines, but when he woke up, everyone said that they’d won; that it was over, done, finished. But it wasn’t. Not really. Not to him.

When he was deployed, he’d often thought about what it would be like to come home again, after everything was done. But now that he was here, all he could think of was the war. When he was a kid, he’d heard the adults talk about the soldiers who came back after _their_ war with Germany, about how they never really came back, how their minds were still over there. Armin didn’t understand it at the time, but he now he finally realised.

Of course, all of this was excluding the fact that he crashed a German test plane with enough firepower to take out every major city across the globe into the Arctic Ocean to save the world but froze himself in the process, but hey, guess he was lucky like that.

 _Yeah, lucky_ , Armin thought to himself, _I won the goddamned lottery_.

That was the only reason Smith was here. _How are you feeling?_ Pfft, like he cared. Smith didn’t want Armin, Smith wanted the Captain. _Fine_ , He thought, _He can have the Captain_.

“I’m fine sir,” he said, voice flat and unassuming as he unwrapped the bandages from his hands; a soldier’s voice, “You here to enlist me?”

“No no, you’ve…” Smith paused, furrowing his enormous eyebrows as chose his words delicately, “made your feelings clear. I’m just… checking in.” There wasn’t a hint of concern in his words.

“Well I it appreciate sir,” Armin replied, not a hint of truth in his, “but I’m fine.”

With that, Armin grabbed his bag, turned on his heel, and left, giving Director Smith a pointed look of his own as he passed him by. His words might have been hollow, but they still stirred something in him. How was he feeling? He didn’t know. It’d only been two weeks since S.H.I.E.L.D. - Strategic… Homeland… something or other, he was horrible with acronyms - had thawed him out of the ice. Two weeks ago, he was still in Germany, still at war, and now he’s woken up to find that not only did they win, but they did it in the worst possible way. He did everything he could, sacrificed everything - including his own life - to make sure that the war didn’t end with civilians dying in the thousands, and in the end, that’s exactly how it happened.

Forgive him if he wasn’t itching to get back in the world.

But if he was being totally honest, it didn’t bother him all that much. He hated himself for admitting it, but it really didn’t. Ever since he woke up nothing had seemed real, like it was all some kind of weird, comatose-induced dream. Maybe he was still alive, still slowly freezing to death in the northern Atlantic, and the low temperature was giving him some kind of hallucination. Either way, he wasn’t mourning the life and the country he’d lost, because he already lost everything before he went under. With everyone gone - Thomas, Samuel, Jean, Marco, Dr. Zoe, his Grandfather… Eren… - he had nothing to live for. Maybe he wasn’t dead, but he might as well be.

***

It was a blessing and a curse to be back in New York. Everything around him reminded Armin how much he’d missed in the last 70 years, people drove cars he’d never seen, talked and swiped on gadgets he’d never imagined, and spoke words he never heard of; to say that he felt out of place was an understatement. He imagined this must have been like what his parents saw when they emigrated from Ireland. But at the same time, everything reminded him of home. It might have had a new coat of paint, but underneath, it was the same old place.

People hurried past him on the sidewalk, rushing from nowhere in particular to somewhere important. The roads were still deadlocked with traffic, tarmac covered in a sea of grey and yellow cars. Everyone still drank coffee, whistled for taxis, pounded on their horns, and complained about the weather. Central Park was still a lush oasis in a sea of cold metal, the trains still shrieked as they came out of subway tunnels, and the Manhattan skyline still lit up like Christmas after dark. Same old New York. It had been a long time since he’d been home, and not just because he’d been frozen for 70 years. Seeing as his apartment was sterile, barren, and left him nothing to do but remember all the horrors he’d seen, he spent most of his time walking around, getting reaquainted with the city he’d left so long ago, and just thinking.

On this occasion, he was thinking about the visit Smith paid him the other night. It wasn’t the first time he and S.H.I.E.L.D. had butted heads; heck, immediately after he first woke up, they tried to convince him he was still in the 40s and then chased him out of the building and through Time Square when he tried to leave. The other night was the first time he’d seen the man in charge since then, and it didn’t sit well with him.

He had no idea how they found him or what their ultimate purpose for thawing him out was, but he had no doubt that it wasn’t just to have a friendly chat. You know, because they were so good at being friendly. No, they wanted him back in the game, to take up the shield and flash that winning Cap smile again. Armin couldn’t care less what S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted.

Ironically, he was never a great lover of his country; he didn’t join the army to make Uncle Sam proud, or even to kill Nazis. He joined the army because he didn’t like bullies. These days, with everything he’d learnt about Hiroshima, Vietnam, Iraq, and however many other places, it was looking more like America was the bully. He didn’t feel comfortable going to work with stars and stripes plastered on his chest. And that was just America, don’t get him started on S.H.I.E.L.D. Call him old fashioned, but a monolithic, omnipresent, and all-knowing intelligence agency living in the shadows wasn’t something he wanted to represent. After all, the last time he encountered an organisation whose idea of peace was controlling everything, they ended up disagreeing.

What he felt didn’t stop them from trying to win him over though. Armin checked his watch for the umpteenth time that morning, sighing in anguish as the big hand slowly crept towards the hour mark.Soon, he had to head back to his apartment for his bi-weekly ‘therapy session’. Every few days, S.H.I.E.L.D. sent a ‘handler’, their way of saying headshrink, to meet with him and discuss his ‘rehabilitation process’. But, just like with everything Smith seemed to do, there was an ulterior motive. When they asked ‘How are you finding things?’, what they meant was ‘how long until you can get back in the field?’

Thankfully, he still had about half an hour before his regularly scheduled hour of probing questions, enough time to grab a cup of coffee.

He ducked into a nearby cafe he found on one of his walks; it was a nice little place, clam, friendly staff; it smelled like apples and cinnamon, and you could hear the rattling of old trains as they raced past just outside. It reminded him of home. Plus, he could actually _order_ here. Armin had tried going into one of those chain stores filled with noise and people, and heard orders of ‘venti macchiatos’ and ‘double frappuccinos’ shouted across the kitchen. He just wanted a coffee. When someone asked him he had the ‘wifi password’, he knew he needed to leave. Not to mention how _expensive_ everything was. Five dollars for a cup of coffee? He could only imagine what Eren would’ve done if he was here. He smiled at that, the thought of his best friend ranting and raving, calling or the manager and screaming bloody murder on behalf of the american economy, it cheered him up.

“This seat taken?”

Armin’s train of thought grinded to a halt. A little dazed, he looked up from the depths of his coffee mug just in time to see a woman slide into the chair across from him, as if she’d simply returned from the bathroom rather than sat a total stranger’s table. She was beautiful, in a mildly intimidating sort of way. She was tall, taller than him, although 5’4” wasn’t hard to beat; she had shoulder length black hair, and a red scarf tied around her neck.

She smiled at him, sweetly, “I take it you’re a Yankees fan?”

Armin didn’t respond; he was frozen, like a deer caught in headlights.

She nodded her head towards him, “The hat?”

“O-oh, uh…” he stammered, breaking eye contact and reaching up to take the baseball cap of his head. Truth be told he was Dodgers fan, but they didn’t play for Brooklyn anymore. He bought the hat from a corner store, thinking it could work as a disguise. “U-uh, yeah… I-I am.”

This was incredibly awkward. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to a normal person, he was afraid he’d forgotten how.

The woman across from him giggled, her voice soft and sweet. “Well, that’s lucky. You see,” she reached her hand into the inside pocket of her grey jacket and pulled out two pieces of white cardboard, “I just happen to have a couple tickets for the game today, and I’ve seen you come in here a lot and I was just wondering if…” she flitted her eyes away, biting her bottom lip, “If you’d maybe want to come with me?”

_Wait… Was this…? Was she…? Oh… **Oh…**_

Armin gulped down the last of his coffee, standing up too suddenly and jostling the table and its contents. Hesitantly, hands shaking, he reached out and tried to fix the mess, before stuttering out an awkward apology and turning on his heel to leave. The woman sat quietly and calmly the whole time.

“Captain Arlert?”

He was about three steps from the front door when he heard them, making him stop in his tracks. Two words, those two words echoed in his mind, shattering his world.

 _Oh_.

He shouldn’t have paid them any mind; he should’ve kept walking, left the cafe, and gone back to his apartment. But he didn’t. trying to be calm, fists clenched, hands shaking for an entirely different reason, he turned around and walked back to his seat. The woman, crossed legs and boot-covered feet on the table, held a badge for him to see, an eagle with stars across its breast.

“You just couldn’t help yourselves, could you?” Armin spat, voice laced with anger that his face couldn’t display.

The woman smirked, pocketing her badge. “We understand you value your privacy, Captain,” she said, her voice suddenly much deeper and flatter, “But you need to understand how important an asset you are. We felt we needed some… extra eyes on you.”

He scowled at her, trying to control his rugged, furious breathing. “Just how many extra?”

She smirked again, he got the impression she did that a lot, “Don’t you think it’s best that you don’t know?”

Armin turned away, nostrils flaring. He was seething. Was everyone he spoke to a goddamn S.H.I.E.L.D. agent? The people he passed on the street? His waitress? His neighbour? He couldn’t believe this! No, the disappointing thing was that he could believe it, he just didn’t want to. Cloak and dagger, hiding in the shadows, that was the way of things these days right?

Armin studied the woman sitting across from him. He could see it now, the cold and scrutinising eyes, the way she held herself with ease and confidence, the subtlety of her movements, how it seemed she only let you know what she wanted you to know. Smith was just the same.

“I take it I won’t be meeting with my regular handler?” He finally said.

“That’s correct,” she replied simply, as if remarking upon the weather, “I’ve relieved him.”

“And who exactly are you?”

“Mikaela,” she extended her open palm to him, “Mikaela Anderson.”

Armin’s eyes narrowed, staring at her hand and refusing to shake it, “Is that who you really are?”

She smirked again, raising her eyebrow, “Real enough.”

Armin sighed angrily, refusing to meet the woman’s gaze. Was this some kind of test? What the heck was Smith up to? First his little ‘checkup’ at the gym the other night, and now this? Was he trying to gage how he’d react to… whatever game this was, or was he simply fed up with waiting, and decided to take matters into his own hands? Armin would never understand him; the man’s mind was a maze, constantly trying to mislead you.

“You seem upset,” ‘Mikaela’ said, her face expressionless and voice concerned, as if she genuinely didn’t expect him to be.

“You’re damn right I’m upset,” Armin raised his voice, but not too much, not wanting to cause a scene, “Nothing’s ever straightforward with you people, is it? Always with the smoke and mirrors, and the lies.”

“I wasn’t lying about what I said earlier.” Mikaela said cordially, reaching back into her pocket and pulling out the tickets, offering one to Armin. “These really are Yankees’ tickets and there really is a game on today, would you care to join me?”

Armin stared at the tickets, eyes narrowed in suspicion. What was her play here? What did she want? Mikaela chuckled, “Don’t worry,” she said, “It’ll just be you and me, no ‘extra eyes’ required.”

“Give me one good reason why I should go with you,” he commanded, his Captain persona leaking into his words.

“Because,” Mikaela replied, rubbing the tickets back and forth against each other, “They’re _really_ good seats.”

***

To Mikaela’s credit, they _were_ really good seats, just a couple rows from the front. Whenever he and Eren managed to scrounge up enough money to see a game, their seats would always be way in the back, where the wind was so strong it threatened to blow you off the grandstand and you were too high up to see anything properly. From where he was sitting now, he could practically see the sweat dripping off the players’ faces.

Looking around him now, Armin noticed how similar everything looked. Sure, the team was more diverse and there was a giant screen in the corner of the stadium, but other than that, he could have sworn this was a game in the 1940s. The stands were still crowded, fans still roared, and overpriced hotdogs were still eaten. Baseball was still baseball. For the first time since he’d woken up, and probably since before that, Armin felt genuinely happy.

He half expected to look over and see Eren sitting next him, watching the game intently or joining in with the crowd and their revelry. But no, Eren, his bright green eyes, and his warm and comforting smile, weren’t there. There was only Mikaela. Armin sighed, a pained expression marking his features, before turning back to the game.

They sat like that, in total, awkward silence, for the rest of the match. The car ride over was just the same, unease hanging in the air over them like a dark cloud. Armin didn’t understand what was going on, what was the meaning of all this? Was she just trying to butter him up? You’d think she’d do something other than sit in stoic silence if that were the case. He sighed. He didn’t know what was happening anymore; between S.H.I.E.L.D. trying to recruit him and everything being so different now, he couldn’t take much more of it.

The Yankees ended up winning 6-0 to the chorus of hundreds of fans screaming and yelling in victory. Slowly, the throngs of people began to disperse, and Armin and Mikaela left their seats and headed back to Mikaela’s car.

“You close yourself off when you’re upset,” Mikaela said as they crawled through Manhattan traffic.

Armin clenched his fists in his lap, staring out the window to avoid making eye contact. “Did you read that in some psychiatric profile of me, a report from my handlers?” He asked, failing to hide the bitterness he felt.

“Nope,” Mikaela’s voice was flat, her own eyes also fixed on the road, “I can just tell. I’m good at reading people.”

“What about the game?” He closed his eyes, as if holding back his straining thoughts, “Could you read that from me too?”

Mikaela glanced at him through the rearview mirror, “The _game_ was so you felt comfortable. Every other attempt to get through to you hasn’t succeeded and I can’t say I’m surprised; you woke up in another century and people are telling you to get back to work.”

Armin opened his eyes, scowling at her reflection looking back at him. “So this was all just another ploy then? Another test? Another _lie_?”

“If I wanted to trick you, Armin,” she said, her voice still cool and collected, “then why would I be telling you how I tricked you?”

Armin threw his back against the car seat, sighing and rubbing his forehead. He wanted to believe that she was telling the truth, he really did, but how could he? Wasn’t this the way of these people? Agendas within agendas? Nothing was ever simple anymore; God, he missed Eren.

Ever since Eren died, since he reached out to grab his hand but couldn’t save the rest of him, everything felt… hollow, empty. Without his reassuring smiles and impassioned speeches in the few quiet moments they had, it got harder and harder to see the good in what he was doing; the days and places blurred together, marked only by the destruction and death that filled them. He’d resigned himself to suffering in silence; after all, you couldn’t have the literal symbol of American spirit feeling down and out when they were finally on the home stretch. So he put on a smile, for the boys, and hoped that they couldn’t see the cracks in it.

He looked up from the asphalt where his eyes had been glued for the past hour, and suddenly realised just where he was.

“Hey, can you turn off here?” Armin said. Mikaela gazed back at him from the rearview mirror, eyebrow raised. “There’s something I have to see.”

***

The foot slammed into his stomach, knocking all the wind out of him. He collapsed, falling back against the hard brick wall. Armin had been running his mouth about how Mr Zeramuski had been been jacking up the prices of his corner store goods, trying to profit from everyone else’s suffering, and now his son and his friends were gonna ‘teach him a lesson’ as they had so eloquently put it.

One of them hoisted Armin up by the scruff of his shirt, and socked him in the jaw. He punched him again and again, and he was powerless to do anything about it. He was seven years old and only weighed about 55 pounds; he was sickly, weak, useless, and a burden to everyone around him. He knew it, even though they were too polite to say anything. Every punch and every kick that struck him, and every punch and kick that he couldn’t strike back drove home just how worthless he was.

But then there he was, barrelling down the alleyway and into Armin’s attacker, knocking him clean over. He was a fiery ball of tenacity, his eyes seemed to burn brighter than the sun, and he refused to give up. Another of the older boys wailed on him just he had Armin, but this boy didn’t get knocked down, he hit back. _He’s scrappy_ , Armin thought as he ducked out of the way, kicked one of them in the shins, and bit another’s hand when he grabbed him, _very scrappy_.

The fight didn’t last too long, the bullies eventually decided that Armin wasn’t worth the effort and cleared off. The boy stood proud; he was battered, exhausted, and barely on his feet, but he’d won. Chest heaving, he turned to face the blonde boy, curled up in a defense ball in the corner. “You ok?” he asked.

Armin gasped. All of that anger, that raging fury, had melted away; the harsh edge of his voice had softened, the hard lines of his face had smoothed. That burning rage in his eyes had dampened, but it wasn’t gone; that intensity, that passion, it was still there.

“Yeah,” he said, uncurling himself from his fetal position and wincing at the pain it brought.

“Hey, slow down,” the other boy said, crouching down and holding his shoulders, “I gotcha, take it easy alright?”

The touch of the other boy’s hands sent a spark channeling through him, sending his heart racing. Armin gazed up into those eyes, green as the sea, and felt... warm. Safe.

“I’m Eren,” the boy said, “Eren Jaeger, what’s your name?”

“A-Armin,” he stuttered, still somewhat reeling from Eren’s touch, “Armin Arlert.”

Eren’s eyes lit up like beacons as a flashing smile graced his lips, shining like the sun. It was so innocent, so sincere, that Armin’s heart skipped a beat.

“Nice to meet you Armin!” Eren beamed, holding out a hand to the blonde boy.

Armin’s stomach lurched, that warm and fuzzy feeling turning cold in his chest. He wanted to help him up. He saw Armin just like everyone else did, weak, useless, that he needed protecting. Armin’s gaze fell to the ground, biting his lip, eyes fighting back tears. Worthless!

No. For once he wasn’t going to a burden, he refused. He screwed up his face, took a deep breath, and stood up, wobbling and shaking like jelly. “I can stand on my own” he said, struggling to sound like he wasn’t breaking.

Eren stood up, perplexed, tilting his head to the side like a cat. He looked down at his hand, and erupted into a fit of deep, hearty laughter. It wasn’t cruel laughter, not the cackling and snickering of his bullies, nor the nervous, empty laughter he heard his parents laugh. It was an easy laugh, joyous and genuine, one not weighed down by troubles and fears. As it echoed of the alley walls, Armin thought it sounded like bells ringing, high and sweet. It was beautiful.

“I knew that,” Eren said, wiping tears from his eyes, “I just wanted to shake your hand! That’s what friends do isn’t it?”

For the second time that day, Armin’s heart stopped. “F-friends?” He said, his voice trembling and soft.

“Yeah!” Eren exclaimed, extending his hand again, “We are friends aren’t we?”

Armin stared at his hand again, utterly shocked. Friendship? It was a foreign word to him. People looked at him and they saw weakness, the sickly child who couldn’t stand up for himself, they saw the weird little boy, lost in his books and his daydreams. No one had ever looked at him and saw a friend.

Tentatively, he reached out to grasp Eren’s hand with his own, as if he was afraid the other boy might suddenly changed his mind. But he didn’t. Eren wrapped his warm, tan fingers around Armin’s small pale tiny ones and shook it with gusto. Armin exclaimed as his arm waved around, afraid it would pop out of his socket. He began to suspect that Eren never did anything in half measures.

Eren flashed him another easy smile, “Great! We’re friends now,” He pulled Armin towards him, slinging his arm around the blonde’s slim shoulders, “And friends stick together, no matter what!”

***

Armin crouched down, staring at the corner of the alley where Eren had saved him so long ago. It was 85 years ago, 15 years ago going by Armin’s age, but it felt like yesterday. Since that day, the two had been inseparable, glued together at the hip. Armin, it turned out, had a particular knack for getting into fights he couldn’t possibly win, and Eren, as luck would have it, was just as adept at breaking them up.

Eren listened to his rants about wanting to see the world, making the promise that they see it all one day. Together. Eren was the one who saw Armin cry, after his Grandfather’s funeral when everyone else was gone and he finally let all his walls come down; Eren held him while sobbed into his shoulder. And Eren was the one who tried to talk Armin out of enlisting; he kept insisting there were other ways he could help, he could put that big brain of his to work in some way that didn’t involve jumping on grenades. But Armin wouldn’t have it, he couldn’t sit by and do nothing while people were laying down their lives, and he couldn’t rest knowing Eren was there alone.

On that night, that horrible night on a German train that remained seared into his memory, Eren held out his hand just as he had done the first time they met, but this time it was Armin who would pull Eren towards him, and he failed. _I’m so sorry Eren_.

Mikaela respectfully let Armin grieve, watching as he sat in contemplative silence; his face was still and remorseful, and his eyes were far away and full of heartbreak. He didn’t look a day over 25, but looking into his eyes, Mikaela could see how old he really was.

“Mikasa”

The single word cut through the tense silence. Armin turned slowly, gazing up at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent. “That’s my real name, Mikasa Ackerman.”

She walked over and stood by him, just like Eren had done all those years before. She was compromising herself; no other agent had told him their name besides Smith, yet here she was laying herself bare. She was taking an incredible risk by doing this, but she wanted him to trust her. “You don’t like the way we do things, I get that,” Mikasa said, her calm voice slightly wavering, “But despite it’s shortcomings, S.H.I.E.L.D. helps a lot of people.”

Armin looked at her, surprised, “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”

Mikasa’s eyes darted away, at a loss for words for the first time. She took a deep breath and looked back at him, eyes shimmering with intensity. “I’ve done… there are a lot of things in my past that I’m not proud of, things I want nothing more than to undo. I may have made a lot of mistakes, but joining S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t one of them,” she smiled, a genuine smile; it was small and faint, barely recognisable, but it was there. “You could help, you could do a lot of good.”

Armin turned, staring at the corner of the alley once more. When he was young, he felt like he was useless, nothing but a burden to the people around him. He tried so hard to be useful, to be anything but a weight on anybody else. He threw himself into fights before his brain caught up and told him it was a bad idea, and he kept trying to enlist no matter how many times they turned him away. But now? Now they were the ones badgering him to enlist. The irony didn’t escape him.

 _What happened to that little boy?_ He thought, _the one who didn’t want anyone to look after him?_

 _He got lost_.

17 days ago, the world was at war. 17 days ago, he was sitting at the controls of the Valkyrie, tilting the nose of the plane down and plummeting into the ocean. 14 days ago, he woke up in a new world, one free of the war he died to end. He didn’t know what to think anymore, he didn’t know who to trust. Anyone who he did trust was dead, even before he went under.

“You know,” Armin said staring at the wall, not daring to make eye contact, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to get back in the game.”

“We’re ready for you to come in whenever you are,” Mikasa said with that same stoicism, “we’ve got a S.T.R.I.K.E. team on standby with a handpicked lieutenant, even got you a new suit.”

Armin guffawed, looking up at Mikasa with disbelieving, somewhat sardonic eyes, “Aren’t the stars and stripes a little old fashioned?”

It was a loaded question, they both could tell, but honestly their entire conversation up to this point had been full of loaded questions so he didn’t see why it should matter. He wasn’t asking about the suit, he was asking about him; expressing his own doubt about his place in this world, about if his ideas of old-fashioned heroism aren’t relevant anymore.

“Honestly, with the state the world’s in right now,” she said, resting her back against the wall and crossing her arms, “We might just need a little old fashioned.”

Armin has to hold back a wince at just how cliche that statement was; judging by Mikasa’s somewhat sickened expression, he wasn’t the only one. But it was more than just the corny sentimentality that made Armin recoil, it was because it reminded him of something someone else had said to him, in a different time. _Maybe what we need now is the little guy_. Something in him stirred, thinking about Dr. Zoe, and what they said to him about staying a ‘good man’. Maybe that was why they picked him, why they _both_ picked him. Both Dr. Zoe and Eren had seen him before the suit, and they both saw something great in him, something worth believing in, something worth dying for.

Armin hadn’t seen anyone look at him and see past the shield in a long time, but looking at Mikasa now, she just might. He didn’t know if she meant anything of what she said, or if it was all honeyed words to win him over, but he couldn’t deny the truth in them. Besides, he was lost, aimless, stumbling in the dark. There was a lot about this world he didn’t understand yet, but orders, military operations… Those was familiar. So until he could find where he fits in the world now, he’d don the tights and be the star spangled man with a plan again. The world he left didn’t need Captain America anymore, but this one… this one just might.

He turned to Mikasa and he smiled.

“When do we start?”

 ****  
  


 


End file.
